


The Lives of Flies

by o0aurora0o



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Fuckbuddies, Fuckbuddies To Lovers, Kissing, One Night Stands, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Tension, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Swearing, bar/pub, hinted sex, kind of, which then turns into a fuckbuddy relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 19:16:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18079325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0aurora0o/pseuds/o0aurora0o
Summary: It started as just... a thing. No strings attached. Just sex. But, of course, it turns into much more than that.Ros is a hard-headed woman who instantly attracts Clint. Clint is an Avenger who happens to be her perfect type. Only, she has no idea that he saves the world as a job.





	The Lives of Flies

Natasha always told him that he was good at reading people when it came to vibes. Natasha was always spot-on about a person when it came to their voice and body language when confronted, but Clint always sensed it beforehand. With Thor, he knew right away that he was a frightened man who didn't know what was going on. He knew Natasha was just a brainwashed kid who didn't know right from wrong, the same with Barnes.

And now, sat in Josie's bar with a hood pulled over his head and a cold beer set between his elbows on the bar, it was the same situation.

A woman in her mid-20s, a gorgeous woman with crazy curly hair that was thrown up in a half-up bun, dark eyes that sparkled and light dimples that only appeared if she smiled wide enough, caught his eye.

Half-bent over the pool table, she had her tongue between her teeth with one eye squinted as she looked down the length of the cue. A wad of cash was seated by her elbow on the edge of the table with two men leaning against the wall to her side, whispering as they stared at the woman. She was clad in light blue jeans and a long-sleeved black top, her winter coat hanging on the coatrack along with her scarf.

It was obvious the men were checking her out.

And it was obvious she was playing them.

She was losing with 4 yellow balls vs 1 of the guys' reds – the guy with the baseball cap was playing against her, his friend creepily leering over them.

But Clint wasn't just an archer, he knew how to use his eye to his advantage. Want a rock thrown at a bottle a hundred feet away? He has it nailed. Ask him to throw 3 darts dead-centre and he could do it.

Which was why he could tell that the woman was offing her aim ever so slightly. She would aim perfectly; Clint could imagine her hitting the white ball perfectly to shoot the yellow into the corner socket, but she would readjust the cue before she shot so it was off. The more confident baseball cap would get, the more money he would slap on the table and the more, uh… favours, to put it mildly, he thought he was going to get in the back alley.

When baseball cap got to the black ball, the woman stepped up her game and strided around the table. When she got the first yellow in, the man grinned and sarcastically clapped, raising his eyebrows to his friend with amusement gleaming in his expression. By the second successful shot, baseball cap looked impressed and winked at her when she brushed past him, playing dirty.

When she got the third one in, his smile dimmed a bit but he asked if he was ever gonna get a turn in good jest, still under the impression that he would win.

By the fourth, his expression dropped completely.

When she bounced the black ball off the side to hit it in the middle pocket, he seemed to realise that he'd just been hustled.

The woman quirked her lip up at baseball cap, friendly as ever despite the obvious fact that she just owned his ass, inside and out. "No blowjob for you, mister," she whispered teasingly, leaning back to grab the cash – at least two hundred bucks – from the table edge. "But thanks for the cash. Come again sometime."

She turned and moved for the exit, clearly wanting to leave before baseball cap could stir shit up, but before she even moved a step, he grabbed her arm and slammed her against the edge of the table.

Clint was already up and about to intervene, but apparently he didn't have to.

Baseball cap's expression was wide-eyed and tight-lipped, while the woman looked the same, only a little cocky. Her hand was hidden from view, trapped somewhere between baseball cap's legs…

She was grabbing his balls. Hard.

Clint almost felt bad for the guy.

"I'll rip them out of your nutsack if you don't leave this nice bar," she muttered.

"Filthy bitch," he hissed, wincing but unmoving. Stubborn bastard.

"You heard the lady," Clint decided to cut in then, stepping in closer with a hand resting loosely over the gun hidden under his shirt, in the front of his jeans. "Get out of here, man. It ain't worth it."

His eyes flickered over to Clint for only a moment before they darted back to the woman's, and there was nothing but fury blazing there, beneath his irises.

He still didn't make a move, but he didn't have to, because the woman abruptly let go of his nuts and shoved him back, hard, into his friend who was staring at the confrontation with wide eyes, supposedly unsure as what to do.

The friend grabbed baseball cap before he could lunge at the woman again and whispered something to him – along the lines of 'c'mon, man, don't wanna start shit here'.

"I'll fucking get my money back," baseball cap muttered, and then stormed out, knocking Clint's shoulder as he left. Clint noticed Josie – the owner – from behind the bar, watching them carefully. She caught the woman's eyes and nodded, and the woman returned the gesture.

They clearly knew each other, then.

"Thanks for that," the woman addressed Clint, pushing herself away from the pool table to face him. "A lotta folks here just ignore that shit."

"Seemed like you had it handled," Clint commented.

"Yeah, well," she started but didn't finish, shrugging a little. Her eyes cast down to the table where the final black ball was sat, awful close to the corner socket. "Want a game?"

"And get my ass handed to me?" Clint cocked an eyebrow, smirking a little. "Nah, I'll pass."

"Unfortunate, but I can't blame you, big guy." She patted him twice on the shoulder with a cocky smile, a friendly gesture, as she walked past him to take a seat at the bar, opposite where Clint was previously sat. There was only another guy sat at the bar in the corner, far away from everyone, and a few patrons were sat in the booths at the back, away from where it would usually be busy. Josie was tapping something into the cash register, but he noticed she kept glancing up at the door in case the two men walked back in.

The woman craned her neck to look back at Clint, and her lips parted into a breathless sigh. "You gonna sit down or what?" she asked, turning back. She nudged the stool on her right with the toe of her boot-clad foot. An invitation. Did she know who he was?

"You gonna grab me by the balls?" Clint asked, feigning hesitance, but stepped towards the empty stool regardless.

"Only if you start shit," she snorted. As Clint settled down comfortably close to her, but not too much so – he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable, nor did he want his junk to take the brunt of her anger – she tilted her head to first give him a one-over, her eyes drifting down his body like she could see something he couldn't, and then settled with gazing into his eyes. "What's your poison?"

"You don't gotta buy me anything, you know," Clint said.

"Yeah, well, deal with it." She shrugged, flashing a closed-lipped smile. "I'm not drunk so you're taking advantage. Plus, I just won $245 dollars, so gotta get spending."

"You're not spending shit, Ros," Josie spoke up, intervening on their conversation. She placed two drinks on the bar in front of them, a cold beer for Clint, and what looked like whiskey or bourbon for the woman- Ros, Josie called her. It was a nice name. Suited her. "It's on the house for getting those assholes out of here."

Clint grabbed the neck of his beer and set it closer to him, feeling the condensation cool his heated skin. He couldn't take off his coat, though, since he made the genius mistake of hiding a gun in plain sight.

"You know them?" Ros asked, taking her own drink, and taking a sip.

"Heard from Frank they like causing shit in the streets, try'na play tough to get in a gang or some other crap," Rosie explained in a grumble, leaning her elbows on the edge of the bar. "Doesn't matter, anyway. You two met before?" she asked, nodding between Ros and himself.

"Not officially, no," Ros answered, swivelling her stool around so she could face him fully, close enough so her thighs framed one of his legs. Awfully close, but Clint wasn't complaining. She stuck her hand out. "I'm Rosa, an old friend of Josie's and an all-around asshole. Call me Ros."

"Clint," he introduced himself, taking her hand in his. Her hands were fairly small, but Clint could feel the callouses of her palm and fingertips. A hands-on working woman, then. "A new friend of Josie's who can sometimes be an asshole. Also not here to hit on you. Or hit you."

"Well, it's good to meet a decent face," Rosa said with a smile, tipping her drink in his direction before taking a generous gulp. She swivelled the drink in a mouth for a moment, her cheeks puffing out, before swallowing. She didn't know who he was, then. Or she could just be downplaying her reaction. "Don't gotta worry about me grabbing your balls if you act like this all the time."

Clint stifled a laugh and Josie shook her head. "Aren't you two just adorable?" she drawled teasingly. The man on the other side of the bar called Josie's name, and she sent a quick 'one-minute' Ros' and Clint's way before going to attend to her customer.

"So, I've never seen you around here before," Ros commented as soon as Josie left. "What's your deal?"

"My  _deal?_ " he echoed.

"Yeah," she confirmed for him, slowly, like talking to a kid. "That's what I said. I mean, people don't tend to brood in the corner of a bar while watching people play games of pool like they were expecting something to happen. And not a lot of guys are willing to pull out a gun when someone gets a little handsy."

Clint gaped for a moment. Well, fuck. "I didn't pull out a gun."

"Unless you were palming your dick, you were about to pull out a gun," she told him with the same suave tone, seemingly unbothered. "A lot of people carry, especially around this area, Clint. Not gonna berate you. Seems like you can handle yourself."

Clint raised his eyebrows, suppressing the look of mild confusion that was no doubt likely plastered on his face anyway. "What makes you say that?"

"Not sure," Ros replied, giving him a one-over again, but it wasn't brief this time. She wasn't checking him out, but observing him, her eyes lingering on the areas of his body where he could hide weapons, and technically was. Only a few blades, and the thin metal bracelet Tony made for him and the rest of the team in case he was in a situation. "Just a feeling. And Josie doesn't talk highly of anyone, so it's a good feeling."

"I've got fucking ears, you know," Josie called over her shoulder with a slight smirk.

"I know you do, baby," Ros responded with a wink. Josie shook her head and turned back around to talk to the other customer, an attractive man, around Josie's age, too.

"Not sure how I feel about Josie talking about me," Clint muttered, taking a sip of his beer.

"It's all good things, man. I wouldn't worry," she reassured him, leaning an elbow on the edge of the bar, still facing him, her body open and relaxed. "I know you've been coming here for a few weeks now, you're usually quiet. Don't come here to socialise but drink. Almost like this is the only place you can really relax. Stressful job? Horrible roommates? Bad marriage? Come here to cheat on the missus? Or are you a serial-killer sociopath who comes here to find his victims?"

"Anyone ever tell you it's creepy that is?" It's basically Clint's job to analyse people, but that didn't mean he liked it when others did it to him.

"I could go all day," she drawled, almost teasingly. "Did I at least hit the mark on anything?"

"Well, uh…" For a moment, Clint contemplated if he should even tell her anything. It could be dangerous to him and his family, to the team, but then he remembered that he no longer worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. He was an Avenger, a public figure. It was only a matter of time before she'd figure it out anyway. "Stressful job you got right," he began listing. "Roommates are, well, weird if I'm being generous, but I like them well enough. Divorced, so not here to cheat on the missus. Not a sociopath, either. Or a serial-killer."

"Sounds like you lead an interesting life," Ros commented and reached forward to get her drink. "Not a serial killer, weird roommates, stressful job, divorced." She took a sip and stared into Clint's eyes over the rim of the glass. "Makes me curious." Clint couldn't tell if it was suggestive, if she was flirting with him. She called Josie 'baby' so maybe she was just…  _like that_. "Or maybe I'm punching a little above my weight," she added, noticing Clint's expression.

"God, it's the other way around, if anything," Clint said, shaking his head. Ros was young – Clint would guess mid to late 20s – but she was definitely younger than Clint. The more he talked- or the more he realised how attractive the woman was, the more he felt like a creepy old man. Well, he was 39 which wasn't horrifically old, but still. "Punching way above my weight."

"Oh," Ros raised her eyebrows dramatically, "so you  _are_  hitting on me." Clint flushed bright red, almost spluttering like a damn fool. "Luckily for you, my type is divorced men who have stressful jobs and aren't serial killers."

"That's oddly specific," Clint said, the corner of his lip twitching upwards into a smirk, but not quite, "but I'll take it."

Ros hummed, her own lips stretching into a grin and her eyes sparkled with… something. "Anyone ever tell you you're cute."

"Surprisingly, it doesn't really come up in conversation," Clint answered.

"Okay," Ros nodded, her lips pulling down in an expression of mock thinking. Her knee brushed against his inner thigh, and Clint felt heat spike in his lower stomach. Clint silently berated his body for having such a teenage-boy reaction to a simple touch. "Anyone ever call you outright hot?" With the slow and lazy way she said it, along with her eyes locked firmly onto his, her lips parted in a smile, Clint's breath stuttered and he felt his heart jump in his chest.

"I, uh, I don't get that a lot, either," Clint stammered out.

Ros actually looked a bit shocked, her eyebrows raising a fraction. "Glad to be one the first." She reached over for her drink again and took a slow gulp, holding eye contact with Clint. Clint didn't know what to say; the last person who had come onto him like this was Laura, and that was over a decade ago. A morose expression must have taken over his expression, because Ros put down her drink and frowned. "If I'm reading this wrong…"

"No," Clint decided, shaking his head as his lips jerked up. "You're not reading this wrong."

* * *

Clint grunted as his back was slammed against the wall, fingers carding through his hair and scraping across his scalp. A soft pair of lips cover his and part instantly, leading Clint to follow suit so the woman can slip her tongue inside.

Clint's hands brush up her hips, find their way under her shirt so he can feel her skin, warm under his touch, unbearably soft against his calloused fingers, his rough palms. Clint was sure he would choke on air if her lips weren't moving insistently against his.

When her fingers tightened in his hair and he felt a pull at his scalp, he had to pull away so he could moan lowly, eyelids fluttering shut and breaths coming in heavy.

"You like that, big guy?" she asked sultrily, panting softly against his lips. Clint's eye fluttered open and she was staring back at him, eyes hooded. Pressing her lower lip between her teeth, she slowly tugged again, a little rougher, but Clint managed to swallow down his groan, flushing instead. Her lips brushed against his and he moved forward to claim them again, but she pushed him back –  _surprisingly strong_  – so his upper back was pressed firmly against the wall.

"Goddamn tease," Clint muttered.

Ros grinned wickedly, letting her lower lip fall from her teeth, and she pressed a hand against his chest, the other rubbing almost soothingly through his hair. She dragged her palm flat against the thin material of his shirt, her outer pinkie lightly pressing against his nipple in a way that made Clint hold back pushing his hips against hers just to relieve  _some goddamn tension_. Her palm flattened against his abs, just over his bellybutton, and she dug her fingers in firmly.

Clint's breathing hitched and Ros stared at him, eyes dark. He could see that her pupils were completely blown, mirroring him, most likely. "Like it rough, Clint?"

Heat spiked in his stomach. "Gonna do something about it?" He smirked teasingly.

She mimicked his expression and pressed her lips against his once again, pulling him by the hips until the backs of her knees hit her back. They fell down.


End file.
